


She's Not His

by AcousticRedemption



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble, F/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcousticRedemption/pseuds/AcousticRedemption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is the definition of beauty, but he'll never be her's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Not His

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic over a year ago, about a boy I liked a lot who didn't acknowledge my existence. Turn's out the guy's a complete dick, so there's one happy ending. c: 
> 
> Anyways, I thought it was still good enough to post here, so there ya have it. ouo Enjoy!

He watches her with a quiet, longing manner whenever they hang out, curious of her every move and intention. She spends most of her time with with a smile, interacting with every person she blesses her company with. Her smile is contagious and bright, never quite quivering when she talks to someone. He watches her from a distance, listening to her talk as he sits alone, away from everyone else. He is aware that his presence makes people feel awkward; he talks far too much, and never appeals to anyone's likes. He spends his time in the corner, preoccupying himself, but always keeping her in the corner of his eyes.

Her hair is the color of coal, just as his is, but he pays no mind to this. Her hair is exceptional; straight and soft and he knows it smells nice from secondhand sources. Her eyes aren't quite blue, but neither quite green, but rather the teal blood that flows through her veins, which lights up her cheeks whenever she laughs. She is smaller than him, but just barely; she is the perfect size for him to hold in her arms, tucking her in safely among his red sweater.

Her lips, however, are the most attractive of qualities. he watches them as she talks, as she smiles, as she laughs. Rarely are the corners pointed downwards; they are always pointed up, a permanent grin etched on her soft skin. They are soft, and never have they been colored over with the colored oil so many females choose to use. He is too embarrassed, but he truly wonders what it must feel like to graze his own lips against her own soft ones.

She is upbeat and happy, and he can't help but to feel his stomach. She is loving; she may not have a moirail, or a kismesis, or an auspicise, but she is loved by everyone. She expresses this with kind generosity and excitement upon talking to everyone - not even your cat-esque team member can match her. She spins on her heels, jumps in the air, and gives painful, but exciting high fives. She has a sense for justice, and a sense of knowing when someone needs comforted, and he admires these traits as he will never be this.

He watches her from a distance, always amazed. She is the the definition of beautiful, but he cannot have her.

He watches, mournfully, as she pecks her own matesprit on the lips. He doesn't want to admit to it, but he is jealous of her matesprit, a tall, handsome, well liked gold blood who matches her perfectly. He watches as she hugs him, kisses him, and generally shows all of her love to him, and more often than not, he feels his heart wrench, his stomach drop, his hopes shattered. He imagines him gone, her in his own arms, but he knows this is nothing more than a fantasy, and an impossible one at that.

A long time ago, he had decided to take a vow. To wait for her, he promises, he will never call anyone his moirail, or his matesprit, or any quadrant that can be filled. He chooses to live a life of solitude in hopes that she will notice him one day, and love him as she does her own matesprit. Though his eyes have fluttered to a few others - a moirail of his promiscuous friend, a matesprit of his self-concious sea dwelling acquaintance - he never keeps his eyes fully off his true flushed crush, the woman with her matesprit.

He does not hate her matesprit - he tends to talk to him at least once at every gathering, discussing the fate of their race and his matesprit - but he does envy him with all his might. He wishes not to make drama of this jealousy, but it is hard for him to watch this man kiss the love of his life, the woman he wants his own lips to grace. He wishes to wrap his arms around her as her matesprit does, breath in that hair, and comfort her when she seems self conscious. He wants to be the solid part of her life.

Instead, he is the only part that doesn't exist in her life.


End file.
